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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23242246">Oranges for Christmas</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarnicamhalai/pseuds/clarnicamhalai'>clarnicamhalai</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 14:42:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,935</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23242246</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarnicamhalai/pseuds/clarnicamhalai</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>George crosses the border to find a gift for his dad; he doesn't expect to find love.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>George Weasley/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Oranges for Christmas</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I started writing this probably more than a decade ago - from prompts my sister gave me. It sat, unloved and unfinished, and has finally been afforded the attention it deserved and an actual ending. Sort of.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>George is twenty-seven and can count the number of times he’s been to muggle London (platform nine and three quarter's notwithstanding) on one hand, yet that simple fact doesn’t stop him from gaily crossing the border through the Leaky in order to find the best Christmas gift he can for his dad.</p><p>Arthur Weasley is fairly easy-going as fathers go but he’s got this fixation with muggle things – plugs, eclectricity, rubber ducks – he just loves them to pieces and if George is anything (besides a mischief-maker, of course) it’s a crowd-pleaser.</p><p>He’s changed his galleons for pounds at Gringotts and with a heavy wallet he starts off on his adventure with absolutely no destination in mind, perusing the festively decorated stores and streets on a whim.</p><p>He ends up in an enormous complex mostly by accident, but figures that he might as well start there as anywhere else. There are plenty of items that would strike his father’s fancy and multitudes of floor clerks, one of whom kindly directs him to the section which contains his desired gift.</p><p>“Dad loves anything that plugs in,” he tells the sales assistant, unaware of the oddness of his statement. In fact, at the moment, he can almost appreciate his father’s awe – there are hundreds of styles, all wrapped up in special plastic containers that fit just so around them.</p><p>“Right,” the girl notes. “Well, we have some more, um, colourful ones over here, if that’s more like what you’re looking for?”</p><p>“Sounds perfect,” he says with a smile. “Thanks.”</p><p>“No problem.” She smiles hesitantly before slinking away to help another customer.</p><p>George is scrutinising children’s night lights, trying to decide between a pair of jumping dolphins or a giraffe, when he hears someone stop behind him.</p><p>“I’d go with the giraffe,” a woman’s voice says. He can hear the smile on her face.</p><p>“I don’t know,” he retorts, turning to see a round faced brunette in a beige business suit. “You do get two for one if you go for the dolphins.”</p><p>“That’s very true,” the woman concedes. “Who are you buying for?”</p><p>“My dad,” he says. “For Christmas.”</p><p>If she’s surprised by this she’s hides it well. “I’m looking for my son. He’s four, and utterly petrified of the dark.”</p><p>“A worthy adversary.”</p><p>“For some,” she admits with a wry grin. “Personally I’d prefer he were scared of spiders, or the sea – something that doesn’t arrive every night.”</p><p> George barks out an understanding laugh. “I don’t know – arachnophobia’s pretty troublesome. My brother’s horrendously afraid of the beasts and I can safely say that he’s traumatised by the knowledge that spiders can pop up anywhere at any time.”</p><p>“Fair enough,” she says with a smile. “I’m Hattie.”</p><p>“George.”</p><p>“So, will it be two-for-one or the novelty of a long-necked giraffe?” she asks him, turning back the to display. “Not to make it harder for you, but there’s also an excellent sloth.”</p><p>They spend twenty-five minutes laughingly debating the pros and cons of all the lights, adding more and more of them to the shortlist as they go, but eventually the giraffe wins out.</p><p>It’s snowing when he leaves the shop to make his way back to the Leaky, and George, his hands buried in his coat pockets and a wide smile on his face, is holding tightly to a battered piece of paper with a long number written on it.</p><p><em>Hattie Collins</em>, it says above the numbers.</p><p>-:-</p><p>It takes him a while to work out how to contact her, eventually asking for help from Audrey, Percy’s wife, because, though she’s equally formidable as Hermione, she’s less likely to pry and George doesn’t want to bring his family into it just yet – he’s only just met Hattie, for Merlin’s sake.</p><p>Audrey, a half-blood, instructs him in the use of the telephone and repeats multiple times that it’s not necessary to shout, just speak normally and whoever it is will hear him perfectly clearly.</p><p>Two days later, George is standing in a red phone box opposite the Leaky, nervously pressing the numbers that will hopefully lead him to Hattie.</p><p>It rings three times before it’s answered by a young girl. “Hello, this is the Collinses.”</p><p>“Hi,” George stumbles. “I’m looking for Hattie?”</p><p>“Oh, she’s just in,” the voices chimes. “Hold on a moment, I’ll grab her. Who’s calling?”</p><p>“George,” he says in a rush. “From the store.”</p><p>There’s an odd noise and muffled voices and then Hattie is talking to him. She sounds pleased. “Hi. I’m glad you called.”</p><p>“Hi,” George repeats, unsure of what to say. He goes with “Was that another one of yours answering the phone?” and regrets it immediately because it sounds stupid and demanding and he doesn’t even know her yet, but Hattie just laughs.</p><p>“Who, Erin?” she says. “No, she’s my au pair. She helps out around the house and with Alfie. Lovely girl; don’t know what I’d do without her.”</p><p>“Oh.” Hearing this, George feels less compunction in asking, “Would you like to go out sometime this week?”</p><p>“Wow, no faffing around with you,” she says, but he can hear the smile in her voice. “Whereabouts?”</p><p>At the last minute, George remembers it will have to be in muggle London so he rather artfully replies, “I think we can make it the lady’s choice – what’s your favourite?”</p><p>“There’s a great little Indian not far from my place – Thursday at seven?”</p><p>“I’ll be there,” he says, noting down the details and address Hattie gives him.</p><p>-:-</p><p>They make it out on a few little date nights and even a sprawling picnic. Spending time with Hattie is easy and it’s not long after when George finally meets Alfie. It’s a scheduled date night and Hattie shows up looking harried with Alfie in tow.</p><p>“Erin’s sick,” she tells him, “so Alfie’s tagging along. I’d say ‘I hope you don’t mind’ but it doesn’t really matter. Alfie’s my number one, so if you have a problem with it you can say goodbye to any future dates.” The look in her eyes is defiant.</p><p>“It’s fine by me,” George says truthfully. He wins Alfie over in short order with tall stories and tricks and he doesn’t see the small, secret smile Hattie allows herself when the two of them are ensconced in laugh-filled competition about who can take the biggest bite of their dinners.</p><p>-:-</p><p>“So, family-wise,” Hattie hedges, pulling her knees up to tuck herself tightly into the space between the arm of the sofa and George’s warm body, his arm wrapping around her shoulders. “Any siblings, or are you a lonely only child like me?”</p><p>It’s an odd feeling, telling people about his family now, George finds. He used to just spit it out with a grin: <em>‘there’re seven of us – four brothers, a twin and a sister’</em>. But he can’t do that anymore; he can’t really introduce Fred, but he can’t just exclude him either – it’s not as easy as that. It’s not easy at all.</p><p>Instead, he says with a slight smile, “I’ve got a big family.”</p><p>“Lucky,” Hattie murmurs, cuddling up to him. “More love to go around.”</p><p>George grimaces. “More people to lose.”</p><p>She starts fiddling with the hem of the over-sized cream jumper she’s wearing and responds, “At least you’ve got them, though – now; then; whenever. Being an only child was awful for me; my parents worked a lot so I hardly ever saw them – I knew my school teachers better than I knew my own mum!” She looks up at him sardonically. “How sad is that?”</p><p>“If we’re going to sell our sob stories, I think mine will go for the highest price,” George states boldly. Strangely enough, he isn’t nearly as uncomfortable as he thinks he should feel. If anything, he feels that telling Hattie will be a good thing to do; for some reason he feels that it is something she should know about him now. “My eldest brother was brutally disfigured while fighting in the same war that killed my twin.”</p><p>Once it is out in the open he realises two things: one, he is starting to come dangerously close to breaking the Statue of Secrecy and, two, that such statements probably aren’t appropriate for couch conversation with a woman he’s only known for a short while. Hattie has frozen next to him and it only confirms his train of thought. Perhaps the truth <em>wasn’t</em> the best idea.</p><p>She is silent for a long moment and George starts to fret, but then she folds in on him and holds him tightly. “I’m so sorry, George” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to pry. I’m sorry.”</p><p>He returns her embrace and smiles sadly. “It’s not your fault.”</p><p>“Doesn’t makes me any less sorry,” she replies, one hand resting on his forearm as she sits back with sad eyes. “How long ago?”</p><p>“‘Ninety-eight.”</p><p>They sit in a morose silence for a while until George breaks it. “Well, that’s done for the mood, eh?”</p><p>Hattie snorts softly and offers him a reply: “I spent the first four days after Alfie’s dad left crying in my room, singing terrible, morose ballads <em>worse</em> than badly and wandering through the streets in the rain. It was awful. It looked like something out of a poorly made eighties film, or a gloomy music video with no budget.” George looks questioningly at her and she shrugs. “You shared something with me; it’s only right for me to do the same.”</p><p>“My brother was my business partner. I locked myself in my apartment and tried to set fire to our final work before my sister-in-law arrived and knocked some sense into me – after saving the manuscripts, of course,” George reports, feeling unperceived burdens leave his shoulders. “She thought it was sacrilegious, my attempted arson on the last item my brother ever worked on, and she was completely right, really. I must’ve been in a pretty bad place to get that far.”</p><p>“She must be a pretty impressive force, your sister-in-law,” Hattie comments, “to pull you out that quickly.”</p><p>“A hurricane,” he agrees. “She married my youngest brother after about eight years of being best friends with him and their other mate. She’s a genius when it comes to just about everything and if she considers you one of her own, there’s nothing she won’t do.”</p><p>“Sounds like someone I could get along with,” Hattie says with an easy smile. “I’d like to meet her.”</p><p>“Not yet,” George tells her, flicking her nose playfully. “The pair of you together could bring England to its knees.”</p><p>Hattie shuffles herself around so she’s looking directly at him. “Thank you for telling me,” she says seriously, her voice quiet. “That must have been difficult for you and I want you to know that I’m honoured that you would trust me with something like that.”</p><p>“I think I’ve wanted you to know for a while, I just didn’t know how to bring it up,” George confesses.</p><p>Hattie reaches over to clasp his hand reassuringly.</p><p>-:-</p><p>She does end up meeting Hermione, the bushy-haired witch and her gangly husband coming out to breakfast one Saturday morning in the beginning of December. George has been considering when to introduce Hattie to his family practically since the day they met but he has, quite rightly, had some apprehensions.</p><p>First and foremost: Hattie is a muggle, so springing the magical world on her is both bordering on illegal and slightly cruel; second, George is a Weasley and a family dinner at the Burrow is invariably chaotic to the extreme (and, honestly, he’s more worried about that than any ramifications from the Ministry). Also, his mother will be hearing wedding bells if he brings a girl around.</p><p>Everything goes smoothly until Ron asks what Hattie’s plans are for Christmas are – there’s only a week to go.</p><p>“Oh, Alfie and I will be home alone this year. Erin’s going to Bali with her boyfriend,” she tells them. Ron and Hermione both turn to George expectantly and without the least subtlety. It’s the first he’s heard of the Collinses lonely holiday plan but there’s no other recourse now, not with two Weasley witnesses, so he doesn’t fight the words on their way out (if they’d been alone he might have hesitated, not wanting to take things too fast).</p><p>“Come to Christmas Eve with us.”</p><p>“George! I couldn’t intrude on your family,” she starts, but Ron barrels over her.</p><p>“It’s no trouble – mum thrives on guests. It’ll be a right laugh, too, with all the immediate family there. Plenty of kids. Alfie will love it.”</p><p>“It’s not an imposition?”</p><p>George shakes his head. “Mum cooks enough to feed an army – we eat leftovers for weeks. You’d be helping us, honestly.”</p><p>“It would be lovely to meet your family. And Alfie would enjoy having some friends to play with other than his mum.” Hattie smiles gently. “Well, if you’re sure, then we’d love to come.”</p><p>Hermione beams and the two brothers share a knowing look. Molly is going to smother the two newcomers in so much love and affection.</p><p>-:-</p><p>Christmas Eve comes quickly.</p><p>George and Hattie drive to Ottery St Catchpole and then on to the Burrow.</p><p>George and Ron have spent the last week clearing the gnomes out of the garden with the older kids. If they keep it up for a week the gnomes tend to decide the garden isn’t worth the effort and move into another garden for a month or two. George thinks it was worth the scratches, since they can’t allow Hattie to see a gnome. He even beat Harry’s longstanding gnome-toss record.</p><p>They’re having a quiet giggle in the sitting room, where the antique grandfather clock has all eight remaining hands pointing to Home. Hattie hasn’t noticed it yet.</p><p>“To be honest, I thought your dad must’ve been…” Hattie's sentence trails off. They’re standing in the sitting room, alone for five minutes while the others are delegated jobs by Molly. The kids, Alfie included, are running wild outside, having snowball fights and building snow monsters and forts.</p><p>“A few twigs short of a broomstick?” George interjects, finishing her unsaid sentence. “Yeah, he’s been told that before.”</p><p>She looks like she wants to comment on his choice of idioms but then she shakes her head and says instead, “Well, yes. But he really just loves plugs, doesn’t he?”</p><p>“He really does.”</p><p>“I suppose it’s no stranger than somebody collecting fans or football cards, in its way,” she muses, “but it’s still a bit quirky.”</p><p>George smirks and reaches over to grasp her hand in his. “Quirky is rather the norm for my family.”</p><p>“So I see,” Hattie quips, and points to the Christmas tree in the corner. It’s fairly average, as Christmas firs go, but George knows exactly what Hattie has noted as peculiar. The tree is decorated not with baubles, as is customary, but oranges.</p><p>“I do hope there’s a story that goes with them,” she says brightly. George laughs.</p><p>“Naturally. But it’s not mine to tell, so you’ll have to wait for that one.”</p><p>He’s been keeping her away from the kitchen while Molly preps the food, and the family are under strict instructions to ‘play muggle’ because George still hasn’t been able to work out a way tell Hattie the truth about magic.</p><p>It’s a big step to take and it has the power to change everything.</p><p>He can’t risk it just yet, not when it’s going so well.</p><p>-:-</p><p>It’s snowing as they sit down to eat. The kids all have pink cheeks from cold air and exertion and the adults all seem content.</p><p>“To those who are here, and those who are missing,” Mr Weasley toasts, raising his glass of homemade eggnog – a Molly special.</p><p>As they tuck in, George notices Alfie and Dominique having a hushed conversation, looking about as innocent as he and Fred had ever managed at that age when planning a prank. He doesn’t interrupt them; Merlin knows he’d never interfere with a fellow prankster. He’s curious to see what they’re up to, quite frankly.</p><p>They are subtle, partaking in dinner and answering questions directed at them, but once or twice George catches them communicating silently. Their prank comes together towards dessert. George sees Dominique wink at Alfie, who stifles a giggle by biting his lip.</p><p>He makes a pushing motion with his hand, and George is absolutely gobsmacked to see Charlie’s beer bottle switch places with the spicy sauce bottle. If he hadn’t been watching so closely, he wouldn’t have noticed it at all. His heart almost stops.</p><p>Alfie can do magic!</p><p>That, or Dominique is just making him think he can – both were possible, though it would be very advanced for a seven-year-old witch.</p><p>Hattie has never once implied that she knows about magic, so either she’s escaping a world she, for some unknown reason, has abandoned, or she’s a muggle with a magical son. The former is unlikely, unless she’d been homeschooled, but she would surely have recognised Harry, at least, if she were aware of the wizarding world. And he can’t see how Dom could have managed such a specific trick that convinced Alfie it was him doing the magic. It must have been Alfie.</p><p>At that moment, Charlie, mid-conversation with his brother, Bill, takes a swig from his newly changed bottle. Almost instantaneously, he turns bright red and spits the contents onto his plate, much to his mother’s disgust.</p><p>“Charlie!” she admonishes.</p><p>But Charlie doesn’t care – he’s spitting and swearing from the shock of the fiery tasting sauce as the children all burst out laughing. Alfie and Dominique low-five under the table, giggling uncontrollably. Even Hattie is laughing when George catches her eye, though she valiantly tries to hide it.</p><p>“Merlin,” Charlie says once he’s mostly recovered. “I’d take a dragon scratch over that any day.”</p><p>There’s a sudden awkwardness at this statement, but Hermione neatly jumps in before Hattie can even think to question the word dragon.</p><p>“Honestly, Charlie, zookeepers have such fascinating comparisons. Not all of us deal with dragons every day,” she reminds him pointedly. She’d told him earlier that if Hattie asked what he did for work, he should say he worked with reptiles at a zoo overseas. It was an apt translation. For Hattie, Bill worked in acquisition for a bank, Percy and Mr Weasley were in the public service; Ron and Harry were both detectives, and Ginny was a sports reporter. They’d even done research just in case Hattie asked them about their work.</p><p>“It’s about time for pudding anyway,” Mrs Weasley says, and the thought of dessert pushes away any further hesitation.</p><p>The plum pudding is enormous, and glows blue (it had been lit in the kitchen, by something other than a match), and the thick vanilla custard it is served with tastes divine.</p><p>As George and Hattie drive back to London late that night, Alfie asleep in the backseat, Hattie says quietly, “George, will you stay tonight?”</p><p>George hasn’t spent the night at Hattie’s place before, always leaving the mother and son to their private, safe space. It’s the first time Hattie has asked him to stay. He’s been musing over the astonishing revelation that Alfie could potentially perform magic, so the question blindsides him.</p><p>“You want me to?” he asks, a little taken aback but exorbitantly happy after such a wonderful day in her company, surrounded by his family. He backtracks, “I mean, of course you do, you wouldn’t have asked otherwise!”</p><p>Hattie, an amused smile on her face, glances at him, keeping her gloved hands on the steering wheel.</p><p>“I would love to, if Alfie doesn’t mind?”</p><p>They look back at their sleeping back-seat passenger.</p><p>“He won’t mind at all,” Hattie says, turning around again. “We’ve talked about it. He really likes you, George.”</p><p>He reaches his hand over to squeeze hers briefly. “I’m glad to hear that, Hattie. Because I really like the both of you.”</p><p>-:-</p><p>For the first time in a long time, George sleeps through the night.</p><p>He wakes to the door squeaking open and sits up slightly, remembering where he is – it's Alfie, creeping into his mother’s bedroom.</p><p>“George!” he crows happily.</p><p>“Shh, let your mum sleep,” George tells him. Hattie hadn’t even flinched, but he reckons she could do with a sleep in, so he says to Alfie, “Why don’t we go and make her some Christmas breakfast?”</p><p>The little lad nods excitedly. “Can we make pancakes?”</p><p>“I don’t see why not,” George says, slipping out of bed, immensely grateful he’d chucked his boxer shorts back on last night.</p><p>In the kitchen, Alfie collects the ingredients George lists for him and industriously sets about mixing everything together while George chops up the various toppings. He allows George to take the reins for the cooking part but supervises from his place astride a dining chair that he’s pulled over from the table.</p><p>“Alfie,” George asks quietly while they watch the pancakes cook. “At the party yesterday, did Dom tell you anything special. Anything secret?”</p><p>Alfie looks guiltily at him but doesn’t answer.</p><p>George prompts him. “Something about magic maybe?”</p><p>“Mum says magic isn’t real,” he parrots his parent, downcast.</p><p>George hesitates. Talk about a hurdle. If Hattie is anti-magic, he thinks, that could be trouble. But, surely, she can’t be as bad as the <em>Dursleys</em>. Now is his opportunity to win Alfie over fully and help him feel accepted.</p><p>“I think some kinds of magic are real,” George says, flipping the pancake in the pan. It's perfectly golden.</p><p>“Dom said she’s a witch,” Alfie confesses, watching George for a reaction.</p><p>“What do you think about that?”</p><p>“If she’s a witch, then I could be a wizard. That’d be really cool!”</p><p>“Can you show me what you did at dinner?” George prompts. Alfie looks guiltily up at him, surprised at being found out, and George can’t help but laugh. “Oh, I knew it was you two – I was the biggest prankster of all – me and my twin brother were known for our tricks. You can’t pull one past me. But I won’t tell Charlie,” he adds with a wink.</p><p>Alfie demonstrates his trick, concentrating so strongly his tongue pokes out. He uses the salt and pepper shakers on the table as his quarry and George watches them switch places easily, just as the bottles had on Christmas Eve.</p><p>He high fives Alfie for his efforts.</p><p>“Would you like to see what I can do?” he asks the boy. He gets an enthusiastic nod in reply.</p><p>He chooses to levitate their now-ready breakfast to the table and Alfie’s eyes are wide with amazement. George casts a simple, wand-less warming charm on the third plate for Hattie and tells Alfie that’s what he is doing. The boy is in awe, and when his mother stumbles in with a smile on her face, he can’t help the words that fall out of his mouth.</p><p>“Mum! George can do magic! Real magic – not just tricks!”</p><p>Hattie’s face falls, and she says, “Alfie – you know we’ve talked about your imagination-” but George interrupts her to defend Alfie.</p><p>“It’s true. I can.”</p><p>She frowns at him. “George, that’s not funny. We’ve been trying to keep Alfie’s wonderful imagination separate from what’s real. I don’t appreciate you adding to the confusion by encouraging him with nonsense.”</p><p>“It’s not though. Nonsense, that is.”</p><p>“George.”</p><p>“Hattie – I’m honest-to-Merlin serious about this statement: I’m a wizard. And Alfie is too. He’s not making it up because of his imagination. He can really do all the things he says happen because of him.” George looks at Alfie; he looks upset, like he knows something is going to be taken away from him. “I’ll show you.”</p><p>“Stop playing games, George,” Hattie says sternly, annoyance tipping into anger.</p><p>“Watch,” says George. He levitates the cushion on the couch that is a good six metres away in the next room, wishing he’d taken his wand out of his coat so he could do something more complex like transfiguration. “Accio cushion.”</p><p>Hattie screams when it comes zooming into his arms.</p><p>“Magic is real,” George tells her. “Alfie’s not making it up.”</p><p>She has a wild-eyed expression once she has swallowed her scream but says, remarkably calmly, “Alfie, please go upstairs to your room.”</p><p>Her son takes one look at her face and doesn’t argue, but he does pause behind her back to give George a supportive thumbs up. It’s a misplaced hope as she shuts the door behind him and rounds on George as soon as Alfie has made it up the stairs.</p><p>“Who the hell are you?” she hisses, dropping her calm façade. “Is your name even ‘George´? What do you want with my son?”</p><p>“Hattie – I’m still me.”</p><p>“Oh, and you just <em>happened</em> to meet me, with my conveniently <em>magical</em> son?”</p><p>“Yes! I’m not lying!”</p><p>“Pull the other one! Tell me truth – who are you?” she demands.</p><p>The kitchen feels small as George realises her trust in him has evaporated. This is exactly why he’s been loath to introduce her to his family yet – the unknown reaction to something that is so intrinsic to him.</p><p>“Will you sit down?” he asks her, gesturing to the table.</p><p>“I’d rather not,” she says.</p><p>So, he leans against the cooktop for support, knees feeling as though a small breeze could knock them from under him. He knows he’s on the knife-edge: this talk will make or break them.</p><p>“My name is George Fabian Weasley,” he says quietly. He can’t convince Hattie, here, he can only state the truth – it’s up to her to process it. “I am a wizard, from a family of wizards and witches.”</p><p>Hattie wasn’t interrupting, so he continued: “I have a brother who was attacked by a werewolf and one who works with dragons. I went to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and, entirely by chance, while buying dad a muggle plug for a present, I ran into you in muggle London.”</p><p>Hattie looks away; she had been the one to give her number out, after all. He hadn’t pushed for the connection – she had.</p><p>“You say muggle London, like there’s another London out there?” she says slowly.</p><p>“There is,” he admits. “Wizarding London is hidden right in the middle of it. Diagon Alley is our busiest high street.”</p><p>“What’s muggle?”</p><p>“A non-magic person.”</p><p>“People like me?”</p><p>George nods.</p><p>Hattie takes a deep breath. “Swear to me you’re not lying.”</p><p>George stares at her. He’s just flown a cushion across the room. It takes him a good three seconds to realise that she’s not talking about the magic. “I’m not lying to you, Hattie. Not about magic, not about running into you. I only realised Alfie had magic when I saw him with my family yesterday. I’ve been wanting to tell you for weeks about me being a wizard but I couldn’t work out how!”</p><p>Hattie bursts into tears.</p><p>-:-</p><p>George spills the honest truth to her over a fortifying cup of tea – all about his brothers, the war, his upbringing. Eventually they call Hermione (who always has both muggle and magical means of communication on hand) and she arrives soon after, knowing how much a shock this discovery can be for muggles, to take over the story telling.</p><p>Alfie is brought back down to partake in discussions and Hattie reveals some of the things she has seen and convinced herself she hasn’t – Alfie levitating toys as a baby; clothes changing colour between the store and home; doors unlocking when they had certainly been locked.</p><p>Alfie is beaming and asking Hermione a million questions a minute that she is adeptly answering. Hattie looks a little more comfortable but still in awe of her newfound knowledge, when she asks George, “Do you think Alfie’s dad was a wizard?”</p><p>“He could be,” George admits. “But not necessarily. Hermione’s parents are both muggles, but relationships between magical and muggle aren’t uncommon. We can try to find out if you want?”</p><p>Hattie shakes her head, but then looks at Alfie. “Maybe if he asks one day. But I don’t want to know, really. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m sorry for shouting at you,” she adds after a pause. “I was so scared that you were going to take Alfie away.”</p><p>“We would never do that,” George reassures her. “Even Hogwarts attendance isn’t compulsory. There are almost never any who don’t come though, even from the muggle side of the border. Teachers visit the muggle families to make sure everything is explained and understood. To make sure they know it’s not a prank, I suppose.”</p><p>Hermione pipes up, saying to George, “Professor McGonagall brought my Hogwarts letter. She turned into a cat. It was rather effective in allaying any suspicions about magic being real or not; I’ll certainly never forget that moment.”</p><p>Alfie’s mouth drops open. “She could turn into a cat?”</p><p>“Not all witches or wizards can do so. It takes many years of study, well beyond school level,” Hermione tells him. “You need to register prior to commencing lessons with a master.”</p><p>“Magic is so cool!” Alfie says emphatically.</p><p>George thinks so, too, and he hopes Hattie will one day with just as much enthusiasm. His heart skips a beat. His brain catching up, he realises that he wants to be with her to find out. Every step of the way. He tentatively reaches towards her hand, which is resting on the table, and gives it a squeeze. She smiles back at him shyly.  They’ve got a lot of learning to do, but he thinks they’ll be okay.</p>
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